Eight months after her (cheating, almost-ex) husband’s death, Suzanne Mayhew has a plan to move on with her life. First step: sell off Frank’s classic cars, starting with the red vintage Mustang convertible he never let her drive. Second step: get her unexplored kink on with a delicious younger man.

Preferably the one an old friend sends around, ostensibly to check out the Mustang. Neil Callahan—Boston cop, Dom, fifteen years her junior.

Neil feels the mutual sizzle, but if the blush staining her cheeks is any indication, her flirting skills are a little rusty. Though his instinct tells him to take things slow with the recent widow, he can’t resist inviting her along for a test drive—for the whole weekend.

Throwing caution to the wind, Suzanne takes him up on it. But they’re barely out of the driveway when Neil’s cop instincts kick in. They’ve got a tail…and it looks dangerously like her ex’s secrets looming large—and deadly—in their rear-view mirror.

Warning: Spies, lies and vile bad guys. A meddling BFF. Inappropriate use of kitchen tools. Completely appropriate use of rope and floggers. Your mileage may vary, depending on battery life.

The red Mustang with the FOR SALE sign on it was the second thing to catch Neil Callahan’s eyes, even though he’d been looking for it on this tree-lined suburban street of huge, handsome, but cloyingly similar houses. Cookie-cutter, but an expensive cookie cutter. The first thing he noticed was the ass and long, jean-clad legs of the woman cleaning the windshield of the classic convertible.

The car was hot, a vintage Mustang—1965 or so, he thought—in near-showroom condition. Yet the car’s current owner drew his attention away from the vehicle. It said something about how tempting that butt was. How firm, yet curvy.

How spankable…

Which was definitely not what he should be thinking, unless he wanted to talk cars while sporting a mammoth hard-on. If this were porn, he could do that and find himself banging the callipygian redhead within thirty-five seconds, and she’d turn out to be as kinky as a cheap garden hose. But this was real life, so she’d probably pepper-spray him, or at least think of some good reason to cut the conversation short, leaving him without either the information he wanted on the car or a chance to flirt with her.

Neil made himself ride a couple of blocks while thinking distinctly non-sexy thoughts about the details of the latest investigation at work (looked like a straightforward case of one drug dealer shooting another over money, but it was early yet) and the schematics of Ford engines from the ’70s. When he thought he could talk without sounding like a horny teenager, he whipped his vintage Indian motorcycle around and headed back. Probably the woman would have gone back indoors and he’d have to call but with luck, she’d come back out to answer his questions, so he could see if the rest of her was as impressive as the rear view. Then maybe he’d ask her if she’d like to get lunch sometime, or coffee, which could lead to all sorts of interesting places, including his bedroom, the inside of his favorite bondage club or…

Down, boy! All the meeting was likely to lead to was finding out if he wanted to pursue the car, not the woman. She was probably married with kids, seeing as how she lived in a big house in upscale, suburban Bellwood, with the whole manicured-lawn thing going on. A far cry from his home base in Boston’s working-class Dorchester neighborhood, but one of his kink-community friends knew how badly he longed for a new project car and had mentioned seeing a Mustang for sale in this area.

Not that this car looked like a project. More like it had been someone’s precious baby, lovingly maintained all these years, and would be out his price range, even if his dad wanted to go in on it. Their usual project cars were more the “three tubs of parts and a frame” kind. But he could always drool.

Whether he’d be drooling more over the car or the woman was an excellent question.
When he pulled up, the woman was still out front, idly adjusting the FOR SALE sign, which had been resting on the bumper but was now in a more prominent position on the windshield.

The rest of her looked just as good as the rear view suggested.

Older than he was, early to mid-forties, he’d guess, to his thirty—the perfect age, in his opinion. Older women were more confident, as a rule, more in touch with their own sexual needs and less likely to use the submissive role as an excuse to avoid responsibility.

A guy could dream. Just like he could dream he could afford the car.

Teresa Noelle Roberts started writing stories in kindergarten and she hasn’t stopped yet. A prolific author of short erotica, she’s also a published poet and fantasy writer—but hot paranormals, sexy science fiction romances and BDSM-spiced contemporaries have become her favorites.

Teresa is a crunchy granola girl who enjoys belly dance, yoga, cooking, hiking, playing in the ocean and growing more vegetables than she and her husband can possibly eat. She’d enjoy sleeping too. She thinks. But it takes so much time!

She shares her home in southern Massachusetts with her husband—a Leo in law enforcement—and three cats. She and her husband often plan vacations around food,history and/or proximity to water.

What do you do when the man who raped you has the entire police force in his pocket? When you’re called a slut, a whore, and a liar? You get your own justice.

My name is Nami DeGrace, and six months ago I was a normal college student. I was volunteering on the campaign of a man I believed in, a man I thought to be good and noble. Then one night that man forced himself on me and everything changed.

The media reviled me. The police didn’t believe me. My friends abandoned me. I dropped out of college and only have one mission in life: make him pay. That is, until Nick Law came in to my life.

Indomitable, infuriating, and irresistible, Law is complicating things.

Amazing was an understatement. It was like pure animalism. For a moment I thought he reignited the fire in me. I thought he turned the ash to kindling, but then Law pulled back. Before he could reject me, I turned away.

“See?” I said, trying to pull out of his grasp. He didn’t want me. No one would ever want me again. I snapped my arm free and ran past him toward the exit.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Law growled, pushing me against the door.

“What are you doing?” I gasped as Law spun me around.

“Kissing you back.” Before I could respond, Law’s mouth was on mine. He tasted even better than he smelled, if that was possible. I expected rough and harsh, but he was sweet. His tongue lightly grazed the seam of my lips, causing me to lean toward him. He nipped at my bottom lip, sucking it into his mouth. I groaned.

It had been so long since someone had sucked my bottom lip…since someone cared about me. I threw my arms around his neck just as Law said, “I don’t think we should do this.”

It felt like ice had been dumped into my stomach. I tried to pull my arms back so I could wrap them around myself, but Law held them to his neck. I averted my gaze.

Slut. Whore. Liar. The words popped into my head unbidden.

“Nami, look at me,” Law growled. “Nami this has nothing to do with you.” I refused to look at him, keeping my eyes firmly on the floor, until he said, “I’m afraid.”

I scoffed. “What are you afraid of?”

“Hurting you.” My eyes darted to his briefly. Was he serious?

“I can handle it.” If this was how Law planned to hurt me, then it was much better than what I’d imagined. I nipped at his lower lip, trying to show him that I really could take it. Law groaned into my mouth, his palm grasping the back of my skull. I pulled back, saying, “Plus, maybe I want to be hurt. Maybe I don’t want a nice guy. Maybe I don’t want sweet.” Maybe I didn’t deserve any of that.

Law shook his head, eyes wary. “I’m a nice guy, Nami. Who said I couldn’t be sweet? I’m a perfectly sweet guy. I can worship you like you deserve. Still…” Law trailed off, burden heavy in his gaze.

“Just kiss me, Law, make me forget.” Law’s face changed at my request. It was subtle, but I caught it. Like I said, I caught everything now. Placing both hands on either side of my face, Law pulled me to him. His lips crushed against mine.

His tongue waged a war to conquer mine. His breath was hot against my lips and his stubble lightly scratched against my chin. For that brief moment, everything was perfect.

Mary Catherine Gebhard bites off more than she can chew and sometimes calls herself Eva Natsumi. She's lived in Salt Lake City, Utah her entire life, but occasionally goes on vacation from reality. Don't worry, she sends postcards.

Nathan Cross is a struggling actor waiting tables at a local restaurant to make ends meet while he attends endless auditions. Though his hopeful career moves at a slow pace, Olivia is the strength and sunshine in his life… until she leaves him. One day, he is offered a contract with a modeling agent, leading him to work for Knight Fashion Magazine—a dream job he never imagined would become a reality.

Olivia swore she would always put her career first and that’s precisely what she did when she left Nathan. Having a deadbeat dad and watching her mom work two jobs to make ends meet have been her driving force. When she is offered a modeling career, she drops everything—even the love of her life—and moves to New York.

Though Nathan and Olivia try to steer clear of one another, working for the same fashion magazine causes their paths to cross again and old emotions are awakened. Can Nathan forgive Olivia or will he take the next step with the woman he is currently dating? Will Olivia do everything she can to break them apart? Or will she choose her career over her heart… again?

International Bestselling Author Mary Ting/M. Clarke resides in Southern California with her husband and two children. She enjoys oil painting and making jewelry. Writing her first novel, Crossroads Saga, happened by chance. It was a way to grieve the death of her beloved grandmother, and inspired by a dream she once had as a young girl. When she started reading new adult novels, she fell in love with the genre. It was the reason she had to write one-Something Great. Why the pen name, M Clarke? She tours with Magic Johnson Foundation to promote literacy and her children’s chapter book-No Bullies Allowed.